Home

In the place beyond the river lies a thick wood,

where beams of sun crisscross the darkness,

and towering trees for eternity have stood.

The untraveled road, yet familiar, harkens.

A stream winds through, and leads to a waterfall,

behind which is a passageway,

and following it you hear, 

voices cherished,

and emerging in the clear,

you know that you have perished,

for before you they all gather,

in the place that was once and forever shall be yours,

for you are but of them, as they are of you,

and though we are sent out for a time to roam,

to them we always return,

for they, and it, are home.

Written for me by Kevin Lenihan

Into the Grey

Not black or white...caught in a tunnel of fog..burnt out...burning...sleepless
turning...yearning for a way out...I slip into the grey.

A Different Library

A different library. Feels familiar, yet not the same.

I haunt the stacks looking for something to capture me.

Poe? Hemingway? Dickens? Each one tempts. For each one,

I reach out to take off the shelf, but something changes my mind.

Perhaps something more modern? A good ghost story?

So many choices in the stacks! 

A woman moves slowly through, scanning the authors. She doesn't see me.

I flatten myself to make room for her to pass.

No excuse me. No acknowledgement. Like she didn't even see me.

Nothing new.

I drift into the modern fiction. King, Koontz, Cronin. I could spend all day here!

I pass a book by Koontz. Dark River of the Heart. 

About to pull this from the shelf...but then I recall the story. A man

drawn to a mysterious pub with a red door. I must have read it before.

Details leak into my mind. Love and betrayal and a terrorist conspiracy.

A ripping yarn!

So many choices. I must get a coffee first.

Out onto the street. I pass young couples and mothers with children and students out early from school. A mailman, a bag lady, Japanese tourists.

None notice me, but that's the way these days isn't it?

When the traffic clears I cross the street to the Starbucks. Just like my Starbucks!

A modest line. Business ladies in nylons and sneakers, hipster dudes with kindles, a father with two toddlers. I wait with them. Silently, of course.

The rich smells of coffees perk me up. the pastries look delicious! Long time since I had a pastry.

My turn finally arrives at the register. By now I'm suspicious. 

Not so unusual to be invisible in the world. Been long used to it.

But this has been different. I'm not going home. Never going home.

This is now home.

Not such a bad home. So many adventures in the library. I can haunt it for lifetimes.

At the front of the line. I try to order. They don't seem to hear.

Louder I try, to no avail. I am unseen, which I am used to.

But no more coffee. Ever again. That stinks.

NOT BY ME BUT GREAT WORDS :)